


Transformation Cogs

by GreyLiliy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharma wants to live, so he takes it upon himself to make a little deal with the DJD. Tarn finds Pharma entertaining, and courts the brave doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rothinsel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothinsel/gifts).



> A Tumblr Request! This first chapter was requested by Rothinsel. :)

There was an Autobot at his door.

Tarn stared at the impudent jet standing with his arms crossed at the main gate of the Decepticon Justice Division home base via their security camera. For a single Autobot standing in front of the most feared headquarters to the Cybertronian race, he was irritatingly calm. The white and red mech had the nerve to check the tips of his fingers for scratches while he waited.

"Helex," Tarn said. He motioned toward the monitor screen Vos had pulled up. "Why don’t you show our guest inside."

"Got it," Helex said, with a smile tugging on his face.

As the larger smelting pool walked away, Tarn felt something new stir deep under his spark. It’d been a while since he’d met someone so bold. Shame this Autobot would probably crumble like the rest in his presence. At the very least, the Autobot should provide a scrap of entertainment.

Tarn went to the main room to await their odd guest.

* * *

"I’ll get straight to the point," the mech said, head held high and arms equally crossed. The Autobot stood straight, standing before Tarn in his throne, not a care in the world that he was surrounded on all sides by the DJD. "My name is Pharma, and I’m the Commanding Medical Officer at Autobot Base Delphi. I’m here to find out what it’s going to take to get you and your little team to ignore us."

Tarn hadn’t remembered the last time he’d been so wrong.

"We’re not exactly in your ‘Primary Target’ range, which I understand. Autobot Medical facility isn’t exactly a DJD priority here on Messatine, as it’s your home. And who wants to work while they’re kicking up their feet? However I’m sure you lot get bored as much as the next," Pharma said. He pressed two fingers and a thumb against the side of his cheek, and tilted his head, almost bored. "And I’d very much like my little base to stay free of range should someone just feel like blowing something up to kill time. So, I’m willing to make a cute, little under-the-table deal neither of our superiors need to be aware of in order to prevent that from happening."

This ‘Pharma’ dripped with a confident ego of the likes Tarn hadn’t seen in ages. It was as if the idea that someone from the DJD attacking Pharma was so out of the question that it wasn’t even an option to be considered. Pharma was downright fearless, but whether it was from justified confidence or foolhardy idiocy was yet to be seen. Tarn prided himself on his speech, but he was almost too stunned by the audacity of it all to say anything.

"Personally, I’m thinking free medical care," Pharma said, continuing when the DJD leader had nothing to interject. He tapped his own chest, close to the Autobot logo, and puffed up a bit. "I am the best there is to offer when it comes to such things. I absolutely guarantee I can do better than any nurse or wanna-be medic you may already have under your employee. Consider it an upgrade from a Kaon free clinic to the best Iacon Hospitals had to offer."

"Can I shred this guy’s legs off?" Tesarus asked from the side, a growl in his voice. His hands were gripping in and out of fists. "I don’t like his tone."

It was at this point, that Tarn noticed his companions’ irritation. Not that he was surprised by it. Pharma was essentially insulted the lot of them by his sheer casual conversation, let alone the subtle jab at Kaon—the city-state, not his List Keeper—he just snuck in. Helex too, was itching to move, the heating coils in his chest warming and ready to fry the jet. Vos and Kaon sat quietly, but their ire had always been more internal. By all rights, Tarn too, should be wishing to whisper words of hopelessness and loss into the rude mech’s audio until his spark fettered out.

But something stopped him. Something that appreciated the sheer moxie of this little Autobot jet. Tarn wanted to hear him out.

"So, how about it? Free, top notch, quality medical care in exchange for pretending my little base doesn’t exist?" Pharma asked. He waited for a response, his eyes flicked toward the others in the room. He cleared his throat, and shifted. "Or do I need to sweeten the deal?"

"And what makes you think that you’re in a position to bargain?" Tarn asked, finding his voice in that brief moment of insecurity Pharma displayed. He loomed over the Autobot, reminding him of his bulk and sheer power. Tarn asked, "Why shouldn’t we take out our boredom on you this very moment, since you’ve presented yourself so willingly?"

"Because killing one of Cybertron’s remaining doctors at my skill level would not only be foolish, but moronic," Pharma said, deadly serious. His eyes narrowed, and there was a shift in his posture. It was subtle, but Tarn caught it. He was far more obviously on guard, and ready to transform and sprint if needed. So he did take the DJD seriously. Tarn waited for him to finish, satisfied in knowing the jet was bluffing. Pharma said,"And the Decepticon Justice Division strike me as neither foolish, nor morons."

"You put such worth on your profession?" Tarn asked. He leaned back, and dropped his shoulders. The upper hand was back to him. "You think your skills are irreplaceable?"

"Ask me that when your transformation cog fails before next week," Pharma said. He took a step back, and bowed about in inch. "Until then, I’ve said my peace. Do think over my offer."

Pharma turned and walked away, he raised a hand up and pointed to the open skylight in the ceiling. “I’ll show myself out.”

The mech transformed into a jet and flew threw the opening in a showy flash normally reserved for Seekers.

"Shall we kill them?" Helex asked, glaring at the skylight as if it personally offended him.

"No," Tarn said, drumming his fingers on his side. Pharma was just getting interesting. Why snuff that little spark out now? "We’ll save the Autobot and his little medical facility for a free day."

* * *

The free day didn’t seem to come, but Tarn’s transformation cog did indeed fail—shatter, may have been the better word—before the week was out.  Tarn snarled, the ache in his side near overwhelming. He’d lived through it before, and he’d live through it again, but that wasn’t what was at the top of his mind: How had Pharma known?

Tarn intended to ask.

Vos dumped the Jet in his private quarters and left. Pharma had a few new dents, but didn’t seem too concerned. In fact, he looked irritated for being woken in the dead of night. Tarn couldn’t tell if he was impressed or burning to punch that look off his face.

"You could have called," Pharma said. He flicked his finger on a hand-shaped dent on his arm. "Delphi has an open line in case of emergencies. We are a medical facility, you know. Though I suppose I should be thankful your little minion snuck in during the recharge hours so no one would see him."

"How did you know my Transformation Cog was going to fail?" Tarn asked. This was not a new phenomenon. Due to his, personal vice, he burnt through the blasted device at least once a year. But that was something confined to the DJD. An outsider, an Autobot no less, should have no such knowledge of Tarn’s medical issues. He snarled at the doctor. "Answer."

Pharma rolled his optics, and crossed his arms. “I’m good.”

"Excuse me?"

"I’m that good," Pharma repeated. He strut next to Tarn and placed his finger on his side, just above where his transformation cog rested beneath the surface. Pharma smiled, showing his teeth. "As a doctor. The last time I visited, I could hear your cog whine from stress in rest mode all the way across the room. At the most, it would have lasted three days."

It had broken on the third day.

"Speaking," Pharma said, smirking. He lifted his hand up, and pulled a transformation cog out of subspace. He rolled it over in his fingers, something malicious in his optics as he grinned at Tarn. "Have you thought about my deal? I figured perhaps you might need a demonstration to test my sincerity and expertise. Shall I replace this for you?"

Tarn regretted saying, “Yes.”

* * *

Pharma was the worst Autobot Tarn had ever met in his life.

He was egotistical, cruel, and almost entirely without empathy, and yet he managed to maintain the facade of a caring, yet stern, doctor during the day around his fellow ‘Bots. He was a completely different person in Delphi, as Vos had reported from his spying exploits, than Pharma was when he made his weekly house call to Tarn. When he walked into the DJD Headquarters, he removed his mask faster than Vos removing his face, showing everyone the bitter creature that lay underneath.

"Would you hold still!?" Pharma shouted, smacking the side of Tesarus’ face with the back of his hand. He shifted his position on the mech’s chest as he dug down into the delicate internals through the side. "You have a leg caught in your rotor, and at least one of these blades has been downright stripped. I can’t take the leg out, nor replace that, if you keep moving! Honestly, access to the best medical care can provide and you still squirm like a sparkling! It’s shameful."

"I outta’ rip off your head for talking to me that way," Tesarus said. He grunted, as Pharma’s hands continued to work while he complained. "You’re some Autobot scum that Tarn tolerates for  reasons beyond my understanding! Show some respect!"

"You first," Pharma answered, optics narrowed. His entire frame tensed, his shoulders hunched and wings on edge. He held up his pinky finger in front of Tesaurus’ face. "I have more skill in my tiniest finger than you do in your entire repertoire, you overgrown mixer. You think I can’t take you apart? I can put a mech back together that’s been shattered, and if I can do that, I can more than easily do so in reverse."

In response, Pharma’s hand moved faster than they could keep up with, and twisted into another portion of his body through the gaping opening. Tesaurus let out a scream, as his arm disconnected from his torso and fell off. It hit the ground with a shattering clang, drawing everyone’s attention. Unmoved, Pharma jumped off of Tesarus, holding the offending leg that had caused such trouble to start in his other hand.

He tapped toward Tarn, dropping off the leg in a disposal bin with the same motion that one disposed of an empty cup. “I’ll reattach Tesarus’ arm when he learns to appreciate real talent, or your Peaceful Tyranny takes off for your next hit. Whichever comes first.”

Tarn should have been angry, but instead—he found himself chuckling. Pharma’s audacity was sheer entertainment.

"Sir!" Tesaurus exclaimed, holding his arm up. He hissed, pointing the arm toward the audacious Autobot. "Don’t let him get away with that!"

"He had a point," Tarn said, shrugging. He was far too entertained to be angry. "It’s usually unwise to talk back to your doctor, isn’t it?"

Pharma laughed in response, a quiet chuckle that was downright enamoring. The sound struck straight at Tarn’s spark, and the Decepticon general knew he was in trouble.

* * *

"I despise Decepticons," Pharma said.

He lounged facing the opposite direction, in a seat to Tarn’s right in the DJD Leader’s private quarters. He’d said ‘Yes’ to a drink before he returned home, and was now delightfully plastered—Exactly as Tarn had planned in his attempts to get the dear Doctor to stay the night. However, Pharma’s response was not what Tarn had been expecting when he inquired as to how the doctor could hold to a Insignia that didn’t suit him.

"Loathe them, really," Pharma said, rolling the high grade in a circle in his cup. His face emptied of all emotion, save for a concentrated loathing that was aimed at the wall. Pharma’s optics glazed, as he looked at something far away in the back of his own memory core. "There aren’t words poetic enough to describe my absolute hatred of them that goes so far down to my spark that even considering wearing that wretched insignia of Megatron’s turns my tanks."

"Then why are you here? Helping us?" Tarn asked, voice low and near Pharma’s helm. He rubbed his thumb along the side of the red metal. "And why, pre tell, do you harbor an ex-Con in your little Delphi?"

"Ambulon is good at his job, and I happen to be a professional. I can respect talent when I see it, even if I do loathe the one doing the work." Pharma said. He turned his head toward Tarn, eyes lowered. "As for you and yours?" He took a deep drink of his glass, finishing off the contents. "I enjoy living."

"Fair enough," Tarn said. He shifted his hand, trailing his fingers down Pharma’s wings. The metal was warmed by the excess energon, and it vibrated lightly under his caress. Tarn slouched, pulling the limp jet over toward his lap. He was met with little resistence, to his delight. "So, tell me: If you had the power and skill to take me and all mine on, and were guaranteed to win, what would you do, Pharma?"

The jet dropped his cube, hand opening and letting it fall to the ground with a clatter. He shifted until he was straddling one of Tarn’s legs and pulled himself up. He rested his arms on Tarn’s chest, leaning forward until his mouth was near the side of Tarn’s helm. The DJD leader placed his hand’s on the lithe’s jets waist, and dug his thumbs into the sides. Pharma chuckled at the touch, and hummed near Tarn’s cheek.

"I’d rip your spark out and feed it to Kaon’s little Pet with my own two hands," Pharma said. He kissed the side of Tarn’s face and crawled out of the larger mech’s lap without a second thought. The Autobot walked away, wobbling from his intoxication, without turning around. Pharma held his hand up, and wiggled his fingers in a backwards wave. "See you next week for your appointment."

Tarn slouched, his cheek burning from the contact, and his spark nearly leaping out of his chest from sheer desire. Pharma, the Delphi Autobot Doctor. Who would have figured such a mech would keep Tarn’s attention? The six-phaser chuckled as the sound of thrusters echoed in the other room. He was endlessly entertaining, it would seem. “I’ll make sure not to be late.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter by request! Though this one Anonymous. :D Enjoy!

"So, assuming you’re not an idiot and are very much in fact aware there is a cure for your condition," Pharma said, uncoupling a connection to make room to remove the latest destroyed T-Cog. He found the burnt part, sizzling slightly in its little nook, and nearly rolled his eyes. One of the Trifecta treated such a way. It stabbed at his professional side.  "Is there a reason you’d rather burn through T-Cogs like energon goodies, rather than fix your little Transforming Bug?"

"I rather don’t see how that’s any of your concern," Tarn said, head nested on crossed arms. He laid on his stomach as Pharma worked his magic, lazy as a turbo-cat. He rumbled in satisfaction as Pharma’s hands searched through his insides. "Unless of course you’ve grown tired of our deal?"

"No," Pharma said. He turned the damaged and disconnected T-Cog over in his hand, inspecting the damage. Addicted to transforming. He’d seen many things mechs did to self-stimulate, but this was one of the odder ones. Most inflicted with this particular issue felt it was agony to be so out of control. Pharma hummed, and tossed the useless part over his shoulder. It clattered to the ground, bits of it breaking off on impact. "Don’t be silly, this is the highlight of my week."

"I’m sure it is," Tarn said. He watched Pharma from the corner of his eyes, the faceless mask giving nothing away. He rolled his shoulder, optics glowing a tad brighter. "It’s certainly mine. How often do Decepticons get to boast they have the best Autobot Doctor forged from Cybertron as their personal medic?"

"Doctor," Pharma corrected. He lifted the fresh Transformation Cog, extracted just this morning from a dying patient. He rolled it between his palms, eyes narrowed at Tarn. " _Doc_ tor.”

"Of course," Tarn chuckled, "Doctor."

* * *

The flirting had been sutble at first.

Everything about Tarn was subtle. His cruelty, his violence. His voice. Everything except his hulking, intimidating appearance. If Pharma were to describe Tarn to a total stranger without mentioning the physical, you’d probably come up with a lithe little Towers mech. He was cultured evil, that controlled a band of torture specialists while maintaining the appearance that he was always read to sit down and sup a cup of high grade and talk poetry.

Or play that blasted song of his. Pharma had come to loathe The Empyrean Suite.

But Tarn. Cultured, violent Tarn, was courting Pharma. The doctor wasn’t quite sure when he pin-pointed the flirting—he highly suspected he should have picked up on it sooner during a drunken escapade, but regardless—but when it hit him, Pharma’s fuel tanks had chilled with disgust.

Frag a Decepticon?  _Never_.

He’d rather die than give one of those monsters the satisfaction.

"Are you alright?" Ambulon asked, hovering near Pharma’s desk with a data pad. Speak of the pit. The Decepticon. Disturbing his thoughts, and annoying him. Ambulon leaned over, fingers gripping the data pad harder. "Sir?"

"I’m fine," Pharma growled. Work. Always work, work, work. He turned to the Decepticon acting as his ward manager. "What do you want?"

"Nothing, sir. You just looked upset," Ambulon said. He averted his gaze, and tapped his fingers on the data pad. "I’ll just excuse myself."

Pharma rubbed between his eyes with his thumb as the Decepticon slunk away. Things were worse than he imagined if he were letting Tarn bother him enough that it showed at work. Pharma covered his mouth. He’d have to do something about it.

But first, he needed to find another Transformation Cog.

* * *

"I’m starting to think that despite all of your vast medical knowledge, that you’re a bit on the dense side, Pharma," Tarn said. He slipped his hand on Pharma’s shoulder, his finger trailing up the sensitive neck cabling. Pharma narrowed his eyes, glaring viciously at his tool kit as Tarn continued.  "It’s become quite frustrating."

"There is a difference between not noticing advances," Pharma said, slapping away the purple hand away. He slammed the top of his tool case closed, and snapped the lock into place. "And ignoring them. I’m not interested, Tarn."

Tarn chuckled, considering the removed hand. He hummed quietly, watching Pharma with far more interest than could give the Medic comfort. Tarn’s optics glowed with want, needy and pathetic. “And what if I said I wanted to sweeten our deal to keep it going, and that servicing me was the requirement?”

"Then you’re guilty of requiring a prostitute to get laid," Pharma hissed. He flicked his wings once, and walked away. His hand clenched around his toolkit and he headed for the door. "I’m done here, Tarn. So unless someone is in need of medical care, I’ll be taking my leave."

The Empyrean Suite began.

Pharma stopped. He could hear the movement beyond the door of Tarn’s room. Heavy footsteps of guards settling into place. Pharma’s eyes widened. That song wasn’t playing for personal pleasure today. Tarn was working.

The Delphi Doctor steeled himself, and slowly placed his tools on the floor. He might need his hands for what was coming.  _No fear, no fear, no fear._ He was a doctor. He feared no patient, no matter how threatening. It was doctors who inflicted fear into the unruly. Pharma took a step back, pivoting on one foot to face Tarn. “What are you doing, Tarn? I believe my answer was ‘No.’”

"Tell me, Pharma," Tarn said, gently. Soothing as a fresh evening shower at the racks. He took a seat in his favorite chair, and settled down in it as if he owned the world. Tarn tapped the top of his thigh, and slouched down. The Decepticon logo face-plate was its most intimidating at this moment. His voice was sickeningly sweet, like honeyed energon. "Would you prefer to be a prostitute, or dead?"

"Considering the client," Pharma said, his energon pumping through his piping at an accelerated rate. He was fearless. He was the doctor here. Tarn was bluffing. Had to be bluffing. He needed the doctor. Pharma clenched his teeth. "I’d prefer the second."

"I don’t think I believe you," Tarn said, tilting his head to the side. He looked over his shoulder. "Vos."

The gun-former morphed out of the darkness from the corner of Tarn’s room like a phantom.  _How long had he been there?_  Pharma had a second to ponder the intruder before his face was on the ground, arms held behind and Vos’ knee digging into his back.

Pharma jerked his head to the side, and shouted, “TARN!”

The maniac leader did nothing but hum along to the music playing in the background. His eyes were locked to the scene, and he shifted in his seat. Pleased with himself.

There was a click above Pharma’s head. He knew that click. Pharma struggled, writhing to get out from under the mad linguist. He tried to smack Vos with his wing, but missed. Pharma shook. Vos wouldn’t. Tarn wouldn’t! Pharma yelled, “Don’t you dare!”

"Wear…my…wear…my," Vos said, the white slate and black voids left behind horrifying. The reversed face mask with it’s drills and spikes even more so. Vos pushed the mask forward, inching ever closer to Pharma’s face. Vos whispered, "Wear."

Pharma was out of his league. He knew what that sort of thing latched onto his face would do. It’d drill straight through, and there was a 50% chance one would hit his brain module. Pharma would be reduced to a vegetable. He was…he was scared. Pharma growled, engine roaring. How dare they. How  _dare_  they make him feel this? He’d show them.

Even if it cost him his pride.

Pharma snarled at Tarn, “Call off your dog! You win! Fine. You need a medic’s touch to tuck you in at night? Fine, I’ll fill your prescription.”

"Very cute," Tarn said, chuckling. The amusement in his voice churned Pharma’s tanks. He waved his hand at the sniper. "Get off the  _doctor_ , Vos. You’re dismissed.”

Pharma shoved the gun-former off, smacking away the hand with that wretched face-plate. Vos left, snickering and unimpressed by Pharma’s weak counter. They were mocking him.  _Him._  The best of the best. Pharma glared at Tarn through every light footstep away, and through the slamming of the door. Pharma and Tarn were alone. The smug fragger, and his livid Doctor.

Tarn pat his knee, as if he were asking a youngling to sit on his knee for a story. “Shall we?”

Pharma crossed the room, his head held high. Tarn would regret this. Pharma touched the tip of Tarn’s knee, and dragged his hand up the thigh as he crawled into the welcome lap. Tarn would regret this. Even sitting on his knees on the seat of the chair, Tarn towered above Pharma. A bulky mass of purple, with a revving engine. Tarn would regret this. The DJD commander grabbed Pharma’s waist, lifting him up and closer.

Pharma played his part, winding his arms around the brute’s neck and cuddling close. He cradled the back of the Tarn’s helm and kissed the side of his pointed face-plate. It seemed the proper thing to do. Tarn shivered, and his hands shifted until he was holding Pharma’s legs. His fingers curled in above the thighs, scraping against warm plating. Pharma faked a moan, embracing the mech harder as Tarn found the port he was looking for.

Tarn would regret this.

Tarn would  _regret this._


End file.
